


The Machiavellian and the Moor

by The_Glitchy_Writer



Category: Othello - Fandom, Othello - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10797159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Glitchy_Writer/pseuds/The_Glitchy_Writer
Summary: An alternate storytelling of the iconic, romantic, tear-jerking work of Shakespeare, Othello. In this parallel world, the evil ancient, Iago, seeks only for the love of his general, Othello, and does anything, and everything, he can to win the heart of the stubborn Moor. Even if that means removing his lieutenant first. Even if that means having to plot.Even if that means murder.





	1. Hidden Truths

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This work is purely for entertainment. Just an idea me and a friend (Who may be co-writing this with me at some point) came up with afternoon and decided to take further. Dunno if this will be a real, serious thing, or not. If enough people like it, though, I'll continue.

The Machiavellian and the Moor

Chapter One: Hidden Truths

(Set just after the beginning of Act II. The characters have sailed to Cyprus and heard the Turkish fleet has been destroyed. Othello has gone to consummate his marriage with Desdemona whilst Iago sits, upset, at an inn’s table)

The tavern was rowdy, bursting with noise as the countless soldiers got to work downing their drinks in celebration. The air was full of cheers and applause as drunken men sang their tales and fell over afterwards. But the ancient, Iago, sat alone in a dark corner, out of the way, letting the tears fall freely from his eyes and trying his best to drink away his troubles.   
“Oh, how my heart has betrayed my brain of all rational thought! Why, oh why, do any Gods above curse me with forbidden love? If only I was not affectionate of the Moor! ‘Tis not natural, not normal for a man such as I! A male, and one with a heritage of his? It is despicable, unheard of, and yet it is precisely what I crave, precisely what wakes me at the dark of night, panicked and frightened. How I long for the gentle touch of Othello, though I would never say it to his face. No, I must steel my heart and calm my nerves. I am not in love with the Moor. I must blur the lines between love and hate, as I have before, and tell myself I hate him, I detest him, that he took away what was rightfully mine! And yet I feel I could never truly be mad at him. But I have let madness cloud my judgment, and allowed my feet to carry off my body when my mind was still here. I fear I have scared him away, though he does not yet know it. I must use any powers necessary; manipulation, some say, but intelligence to me. I must use it, as I have so far, but this time to allure the Moor. To make him truly mine. Perhaps then I can elope with him and marry in secret like he did with that witch, Desdemona. And my wife, oh my wife, how I can be rid of such a pollution. I only married the courtesan for she was the first I set eyes on. A man of my reputation needs a lady, or questions start to arise. But no more, I will have him! Oh, oh, what do I say? What teasing comes from my very lips? I will never have the general that guards careful watch over my heart! Though… though perhaps if I had just, just a memento of him, a prized possession, something to caress at night when my heart flutters and my brain spirals like a whirlwind. That is all I need, that is what I desire.”  
But just as the plan began to hatch in his mind, the door to the inn burst open, then slammed shut again. The flames of the torches flickered slightly, before settling back to their original position, slowly licking at the wooden walls and dancing in the air.  
“Ah, lieutenant Cassio!” one of the men greeted him warmly, jabbing a tankard of ale at the man, “Come to drink with us, eh?”  
“Yes, yes,” Cassio greeted them with a smile, resting a hand on the hilt of his rapier that was always attached to his hip. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the sobbing figure of Iago hunched over his table, and walked over, “in a minute, boys.”  
“Is everything okay?” the lieutenant looked over Iago’s shoulder. “Whatever is the matter, dear Iago?”  
“Curses!” the ancient muttered under his breath. He did not hear the man, too busy dwelling on his misfortunes, and did not mean to be seen like this is publically. A man was not to cry, especially not one such as he, and Cassio would no doubt see this as some weakness. “Perhaps, however,” he began to ponder, “perhaps I can use this to my advantage.”


	2. Have At Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little mini-scene before the real action begins. Iago uses Cassio's surprise visit to his advantage, twisting his words to convince the lieutenant to defend his honour, even in the midst's of a drunken stupor.

Iago then gave the most earth-rending of shrieks, a cry so shrill that it would send even sirens insane. He let the water flow freely from his eyes, cascading down his cheeks and dripping from the palms in his hands, before clapping one upon the shoulder of his supposed friend.  
“Oh, Cassio!” he howled, having to dig deep into such self-pity to put up the act, “In truth, I am not at all well. Nay, my heart does me a disservice and is full of nothing but sorrow and hatred. Not for another, but for my own skin!”  
Cassio, slightly embarrassed by the sudden outburst, dropped to a knee, looking the ancient in the eyes and speaking to him in a calm voice, “What? What is it you talk about, Iago? What have you done? Have you let loose your dagger too loosely and ended the life of another? Hath thou lay a hand upon your dearest Emilia? Tell me, dear brother, I must know.”  
“I know, I know you must know.” Iago calmed down now, his breath convulsing a series of rises and falls, draining Cassio of every drop of sympathy he could, “And I will tell all, in good time. I was celebrating, wallowing in the valour of our general, when by chance I came upon this inn. I seeked to sup a tankard of ale and spend the night quite merrily, drunk on the spirits of glory. But… a thief, a weasel, a crooked monster came before me, not one in the form of some fairytale, but one in the form of a man. He named himself ‘Roderigo’, and – for why I do not know – he challenged me. So openly, outside this very tavern indeed, he challenged me to a duel. Of course, in the varied tincture of excitement and bravado, I said yes. And though my arm was steady, and my aim true… it was not I who won that fight. I even took a nasty wound from the fight, a reminder of my dishonour.”  
The ensign slipped a dagger from his belt and tore at the leather of his pants. Ripping open until the flesh was visible, he dug the point of the blade deep, a gash that ran from his shin to his knee, letting the blood trickle and seep and fall. He struggled to hold in a cry, instead contorting it into one of mental pain, before turning in his seat and showing it to Cassio. The lieutenant, too addled out of his wits to tell sense from conjecture, jumped back, holding his mouth with a closed palm.  
“My dear Iago!” he screamed, his eyes now burning with the points of very flames, “How dare a man seek battle with such a man as you. It is only because he caught you on a day where you are not yourself that he won this round. But he will not win another. No, though I must admit I have supped more tonight than I probably should, I will not let such a villain ridicule you so openly. Do not blame yourself, Iago, the fault does not lie at your door.”  
“Cassio,” the other said hurriedly, “what do you mean to say? How will you defend my honour when I cannot defend my own?”  
“Do not worry, blood of my blood,” Cassio held a smug smile on his lips, lingering as he rest a foot atop a wooden table, “I will avenge your honour. I will have back at thee, I will challenge the thief to another duel, and in this one his fate will match yours. He has plundered from the wrong coinpurse!”  
Iago struggled not to let the grin appear across his chin, instead giving a face of mock surprise, shaking his head, “No, no dear Cassio! I beg you not to! I know your heart rests in the right place, but the mistake was mine, and I am to pay the price. Not you, you are not to do with any of this. Let me drink away my sorrows, and let yourself go back to your shieldbrothers, for they wish your company.”  
“Nonsense,” Cassio laughed, “nobody strikes at my blood and expects such an easy escape.”  
“You’re deluded!” Iago protested, “Drunk out of your wits! You only say this now in the heat of your chosen poison, come the morrow you will look upon what you have done and regret it so.”  
The lieutenant shook his head, flapping away his shoulder-cape to expose the honed rapier lurking underneath, cradled tightly in its sheath. “Blasphemy! Tell me where the wicked worm is, Iago, and justice will be done. I am part of my general’s great army, I am made to keep the peace. If not, what man am I than the type that lurks in the ground and scrabbles for silver? Tell me the place, ancient.”  
Iago held his face in his hands, hesitantly pointing toward the inn door, “The blaggard should loiter outside this very tavern still. He seemed himself in the throes of mead, and I doubt he would wander too far. The man likely waits for me to finish my drink so he can finish me off in full.”  
Cassio brandished his blade in an instant, and crept toward the door to the tavern, all the while holding a grin. Iago watched from his seat, and let the smile splinter across his chin. Finally plans were starting to take effect. Finally, he saw the Moor in his sights.


	3. Montano

Cassio marched to the far side of the tavern, gripping firm the wooden door and pulling it toward his breast. Then, he walked out into the cold night air, allowing Iago scarce time to run after him. He had to watch what was going to happen next, it was all part of his plan. His grand scheme. So that nothing would stand between him and his beloved. Nothing.  
The moon hung low in the sky over Cyprus, the distant sounds of waves lapping at the tips of the beaches, followed by a brief interlude of silence. The once-busy streets that twisted and turned this way and that through the city, like a serpent in the grass, were now painfully quiet, and the wail on the breeze seemed like a sour note from the very cobblestone, begging once more to be trod upon and used. But there, standing only a few feet away, hidden under the cover of a dark alleyway, was Roderigo. The Venetian stood in immaculate clothing, a diamond-patterned doublet covering his torso and a blade by his belt. He was running a gloved hand through his long, brown hair, and his face was so expressionless it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Probably nothing, Iago thought, waiting until Roderigo had turned away before sprinting from the door of the inn to a nearby barrel, ducking behind it for cover. It was imperative Roderigo did not see him, for if the idle-brained fool did, then he would be caught with no hand to play.  
“Sir!” Cassio leveled Roderigo with his blade, alarming the other man and sending him back a few feet, “Are you the one, perchance, they call ‘Roderigo’?” he said the name with such animosity that Iago could practically see the malice drip from his teeth, clenched together, locked in place, like the horns of an enraged beast.  
“Well… yes, good sir,” Roderigo collected his bearings, stuttering as he stood up straight, trying his best to look intimidating, “I am he. But who are you, signior, to point your blade at me without but a word as to why? I advise you not to start a duel with me, villain, for I will use any means necessary to defend my honour.”  
“’Defend your honour’?” Cassio spat, “You disgraced that which belonged to my friend.”  
Roderigo’s face became etched with confusion, his grip on the sword wavering for a moment, “Friend? What friend? I have done nothing but stand here all night, waiting for an associate of mine to come out of this fine establishment so we may talk in the company of silence. I do not know what you infer, sir. Are you drunk?”  
Cassio then stepped out into the light, a single burning torch outside the building illuminating his face.  
“Lieutenant Cassio!” Roderigo’s face was now one of fear, as he stepped back, realising the mistake he had made, “The general himself’s second-in-command! What, what hath I done to betray you? Tell me, I will… I will rectify the grave error, believe me.”  
“No more words, bard,” Cassio smiled, “put your sword up, it will rust sitting there in the gutter. I challenge you to a fight, one to the death, over the honour you so cruelly robbed off my blood, and I will not lose to a wicked little weasel like thou!” the lieutenant suddenly came at Roderigo, a lunge that caught the Venetian off guard. Roderigo managed just to step out of the way, backing himself up against the front of the tavern and snapping up his blade.  
“I do beg you tell me what it is I have done wrong, sir!” Roderigo avoided another attack, hanging back and hoping Cassio could be won by the voice of reason. But Cassio was beyond that now; his blood was not crimson anymore, it was a mixed poison of alcohol and adrenaline, and together they urged him on, until soon he did not even know what he was fighting for. Whenever the Florentine came close enough in earshot, Iago would beckon him over and supply him another mug of mead from the tavern, so that the battle may pursue, and Roderigo stood a chance. But just a few minutes in it was obvious who had the upper hand.  
“Murderer!” Cassio barked, cornering the frightened rat, “You have nowhere to turn now! I will strike at your very heart until the life essence seeps down my blade and onto these palms!” he prepared to thrust forward with his rapier, until a startled cry came from somewhere close in the darkness.  
“Cassio!” the voice came again, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps that indicated its owner was close. The figure of Montano, Governor to Cyprus, strode into view, at the helm of four Cyprian guards. Montano’s face crinkled beneath his red beard, and his eyes were narrowed in fixed concentration. “What on earth are you doing? Hath some wench downed your head in the river? Or given you, pray tell, some charm that has made you mad and crippled in the mind? And who is this you have clearly some quarrel with? Speak your name, outsider!”  
“R… Roderigo…” the quivering wreck standing before Cassio croaked, “I am Roderigo.”  
Cassio rolled his eyes, breathing a heavy sigh and taking a step back. As Roderigo carefully leaned on his two feet, the Florentine sheathed his blade and strolled over to Montano, “Governor,” he said, “I know your eyes may tell your brain it is true, but believe me, you have not seen it all. This man here had challenged my friend to a duel, for no reason other than to better his own ego, and I sought only to restore his honour. This man is a traitor, a disgrace, a cuckold that has leeched off the feet of man and deserves to be put back in the soil we stand upon. I hope you will take your men and leave; allow me to carry out the sentence.”  
Montano looked between the two men in turn, his eyes calculating. “No,” he finally declared, “Cassio, I can tell as clear as the sun shows it is day that you are intoxicated by the devil of the bottle. Stay your weapon and leave this young man alone, then return to your revels and sleep. You know you are not of your own mind and body when you get like this.”  
Cassio scoffed, squaring up to the Governor. The other guards moved their hands to their blades, but Montano only waited for what was to come. Iago watched silently from the shadows.  
“I am Lieutenant Cassio, second only to our signior, the Moor. You will not tell me what to do. This fight is mine, and I am to win it, or let me be damned in the darkest depths of Hell. And… if you and your men try and dare me stop me in my venture, then let them make their peace with the Gods… they will need it before Dawn shows her face again.”  
“I had hoped you would see the calm face of reason, Cassio,” Montano slipped the rapier from its scabbard, “but I can see your mind is clouded and no such solution can remedy it. Very well, if you will not stand aside with words, then force be it.”


	4. Streets of Stagnant Blood

Montano brushed a palm against the flat of his blade, and stood with one foot behind the other, a cautious hand in front, prepared to do battle. Cassio came like thunder, unexpected, with a fury and temper so hot, even in the midst of his state. He slashed and hacked and diced and cut at the air, but his sword never tasted flesh and blood. The Florentine charged at one of Montano’s men, who scarcely had the time to hold up his own rapier. A thick clatter rang through the air as the two strips of sharp steel smashed against the other, and both men took turns prancing forward and back, until finally Cassio saw an opportunity. He feinted an attack to the left – Intoxicated out of his wits, a child could see the move coming, but the Cyprian guard was in the grips of fear – before ducking to the right, landing in a blow against his enemy’s stomach. The soldier dropped his blade, collapsing to the ground, winded. As Cassio leapt forward, aiming his sword at the man’s neck, Montano appeared from behind. The Governor smacked his weapon against Cassio’s back, but he could feel no pain anymore. Turning hurl to face the ginger-bearded warrior, he took a stab at the air… only this time it sank its iron teeth into flesh. The rapier plunged into Montano’s arm, cutting deep into an artery and sending him to the ground with an anguished cry. “What, pray you, has taken thou mind, you devil?!” Montano’s voice was full of rage, his men crowding around him to help. “Whatever in the heavens above be taking place here?” the familiar voice came from behind. Iago turned his head sharply. Could it be? His beloved? The one his heart leapt at for all these months and years? The dark figure of the general, Othello, marched into view, his black hair short and cut, his white teeth locked together in a snarl that would send the shivers running down even a lion’s back. His torso was bare, wearing only leather pants that clapped around his legs and a pair of buckled shoes. Iago’s chest fluttered, his stare enraptured the magnificence of the Moor. Othello’s eyes were perfect pools of midnight blue, the types of pools one could become lost in forever, like that of Narcissus. His skin was sweating, the reflection of torchlight dancing off his shining chest, trapped in the tousles of hair, bristles that formed a fortress of deep umbre. His muscles, ripped and bulging like full-globed sails, stood like peaks from his biceps, becoming lost in the clouds above. Suddenly the Ancient’s mouth became very dry and very wet all at once, a thick drool of saliva hanging off his lips. Shaking his head, waking himself from the trance, he looked back at the crowd of men, still lurking behind the barrel, desperate to see what was to come. “Governor Montano?!” Othello’s eyes had now taken in the full scene, and stepped over to the main, towering over his bleeding body, “Do tell me what hath occurred here for you to feel such a mortal blow?” Montano’s voice was stricken with pain and anger, as he stuck out a bony finger at Cassio who was nearby, “Let me be the one to tell the tale in all its wicked stature, general! This man here, this very heathen you call your leftenant, was wild when I arrived upon the scene. The Florentine was about to murder the other – A ‘Roderigo’ – when I persisted he stop the duel. But the traitor would have none of it, and instead settled upon a war with me and the city of Cyprus. The clean-palmed pilferer struck me this wound, and now I am unsure where my stars lie.” Othello clamped a hand around Montano’s knee, “Quiet, friend, it will be okay, of that I can assure you. I have seen worse wounds on the field of battle, and the poor souls who hath inherited them still walk this very day. As for you, however…” the Moor’s glare moved to Cassio, “I cannot say the same. Is this true, what the Cyprian has said?” “No, no, not one single word. His tongue is barbed, and every word that drips from it drips with damnation!” Cassio erupted, his face slick with sweat, “I was fighting this Venetian here, to return the honour of my friend, who he had set upon but a few minutes before. There was no reason for this duel; it was attempted murder in cold blood! I only meant to avenge my friend’s valour – a friend you yourself know well.” “And pray be, who is this friend you speak of?” Othello asked, an eyebrow cocked in anticipation. Iago writhed where he hid; if his name was uttered, Roderigo would surely speak up and his plain would be ruined! But there was nothing he could do: to reveal himself from his position now would do even worse injury… he only prayed that God was looking down on him this day. “It matters not the reasons for his rage,” Montano stammered from the ground, “he was prepared to take full blood in plain sight, both on the other man and I. He nearly murdered one of my comrades here… He can’t be trusted, Othello, it is not my tongue that crosses with the horned demon.” Cassio opened his mouth to protest, but the Moor only turned his back, brooding. Deep in his mind, he already knew what he must do, if he didn’t agree with it. He wanted more time to discover the truth, but trying to kill the Governor of Cyprus? It mattered not why Cassio had gone after Roderigo, for that reason alone he could not be redeemed. “Cassio,” he looked the lieutenant in the eye, “I can see your mind suffers from the keg, but that is no excuse for what you have done here, this night. You have showed a lack of care, ignorance, and the desire to put reckless abandon above any and all reason. I cannot have a man such as you in my ranks, let alone as my second-in-command! I hereby strip you of your title, and exile you from this isle; you have no business here. Not anymore. “Now, if you gentlemen excuse me, I was with busy with the love of my wife, I have little time left to spend with her, and certain duties… must be completed. I trust you will survive, dear Montano, believe me: you will be fine. Take a few days of rest and when you awake, your spirit will be whole again. I bid you farewell, until next we meet.” And with that, Othello strolled back into the darkness, leaving Montano’s men to carry the Governor’s body away, and Cassio to curse after them. Kicking a heeled foot at the ground, he rest against the very barrel where Iago hid, the tears welling in his eyes. “Do not give into anger and sorrow, dear Cassio.” Iago finally stood from his spot, and put a reassuring hand on the exile’s shoulder. “Oh, Iago!” Cassio howled, “What am I to do, now I am banished? Did you see the display?” The ancient nodded, “I saw it all, I thought it best not to reveal myself in case matters got too out of hand. But listen to me, you will be fine, trust me, am I not an honest man? The sky still stands above our heads and the seas still churn with life. The world is not over yet, Cassio.” “But what should I do, ancient? Shouldst I go after the Moor’s wife, persuade her to converse with him? Perhaps he will listen to her speech, and I will be lieutenant Cassio once again? Is it surely not worth a try?” Iago shook his head, “Listen to me, friend, and listen well. The Moor is a stubborn man, his heart sometimes a chunk of ice without reason. He may love the fair Desdemona, but once he makes a decision, his gavel strikes true and for all. Nothing will convince him otherwise, believe me for I know him well. Othello’s ears will shut before any logic tries at him. No, I am sorry to say it, brother Cassio, but there is no way back from what he has said. You are exiled, and you can do nothing but return to Florence. Go peacefully, and with haste, it is the easiest way, or do you want bloodshed to befall you and your family?” Cassio dropped his face into his hands, the tears dropping from his cheeks and becoming lost in the cracks below. Finally he nodded his head, “You speak only the truth, friend Iago. I thank you for all you have done for me, I only hope I have restored the honour you have lost. But this must be our final meeting. As you say, I must leave with speed, and a ship will likely be at the dock for me by dawn. Farewell, blood of my blood.” The exile stood up and gave a brief, pathetic bow, before disappearing from sight. When Cassio was gone, Iago could not hold in the squeal of joy any longer. Cassio was out of the way. Othello needed a new lieutenant, and the exile had given him a new idea. The right words in the Desdemona’s ear, and he would finally have the position he wanted. And after that, nothing would stand between him and his heart.


	5. A Plot Thicker Than Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iago's plan now begins in earnest. He is to do whatever it takes to follow the course of true love - Even if that means destroying all he once held dear... and planting the seeds of doubt within Othello's mind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I'm aware it's been over a year since I first picked up this venture. Every now and then I get e-mails about you all leaving kudos and nice comments on my work (Bizarrely, this is my most read piece despite being some throwaway slash fiction), so I'll try my best to pop in when I can. If my writing seems clunky or disjointed, forgive me <3

This was it. Iago's plan was in motion. Cassio was disgraced, shown in the midst of a drunken stupor to be nothing more than a blackguard. Roderigo was still within Iago's control, and Othello was in his sights. Finally, after all this time.   
"Oh Othello..." Iago muttered idly to himself as the moon danced upon barreling hills, "How my heart does yearn for you. How it dares to flutter from my chest, like a dove captured in binds of secrecy, and transform itself within the holy heavens above! Why, I would do anything to cherish and nurture that flame, dear Othello, if even the minerals below came to take me as one of their own."  
Iago still sat in the dark of night outside the tavern, recovering from the confrontation that took place earlier. The words of his Moor thundered around his brain, shattering every piece of sane bone it found. Iago had followed Othello on the fields of battle countless times - He had seen the general beaten and bruised, yet he had seen him triumphant and valorous. But the ancient had never heard such ferocity spill from the lips of he. The malice in Othello's voice shook Iago to the core, causing feelings to well up inside of him he had not felt before. Like the shuddering tremor that befell an earthquake, so did something fill his veins with bursting ecstasy and cause the tips of his fingers to tingle. His eyes snapped shut and instantly he was taken back to the first time he had seen that man's face. Every crease, every speck of dirt and blood, every explosion of colour and memory that stained his skin... he could see it all now for what it was. Beautiful.   
"O... Othello..." he murmured to himself with shaking lips, as if the very act of saying his name aloud was a cardinal sin. He knew had the God above been looking down upon him now, he would be cast out of Heaven's gates forever. And yet there was some voice inside of him that almost begged for it. "I can only imagine how the wicked Desdemona feels at night..." Iago's hand slipped gracefully toward his belt, his fingers just playing with the strap as the other clamped tight around his neck. He could not tell the man of purity his darkest confessions right now; he knew not the words to speak. They threatened to spill from his lips in a mess of scarlet brier, and yet to Iago they made perfect sense.  
And then the burning heat of passion passed him like a wave against the rocks, and his eyes jutted open in torment and confusion. His mouth hung agape in self-hatred and he could only stare down at what he had become. What lust had made him. What Othello had done to him.  
"No... no!" he hissed aloud, standing onto his feet. The streets of Cyprus ran empty, and the tavern before him still bustled with noise. "You mustn't allow yourself the discourtesy of being carried away, Iago!" he told himself, "Not now, not until the deed is done. Not until the Moor, Othello, lies beside you at night. Only then can the seeds of passion grow and flourish. For now, there is still his wife to deal with. And the forsaken Florentine who thinks himself her lover! First they must be dealt with, and then nothing will stand between me and my prize. After all, for he may be an old, black ram, and I am that who seeks experience.  
I must steal myself away! I must forge a plan in the flames of wit and wield it like a blade. I must deal with Desdemona first, find some way to bring about her silence eternal..."  
Iago raised a hand to his chin, staring into the deep, dark night as his mind buzzed with rational thoughts once more. Finally, a smile crept upon his poisoned lips, "Aha! I have it; a plan so true and laced with thought it cannot fail! I will draw out Othello's purest imaginations, like a moth to the light. I will milk from him the machinations of the mind, and dwell upon them with honeyed words and silver tongues. I will convince the Moor of his woman's lies! I will have him certain that he is being deceived, and then he will silence her for me. Desdemona falls whilst I am praised his ally!  
And no doubt when he abandons her and sees me for what I am, he will place me in the position of power I belong. His rightful lover."  
Iago let out a faint chuckle, before dusting off his cloak and disappearing into the shadows. "You cannot allow yourself the time to stand on jubilee," he told himself, "there is no time to waste."


End file.
